February 16, 2009

Little Quirks...About Me

You get a chance to take a walk oN ThE DaRk SiDe….of a crazy mind….Because I was thinking the other day how everyone has their little quirks. The things that make them unusual, things that set them apart from others…..my quirks just separates me from the rest of the human race with a chasm the size of a black hole.

Ican’t stay in Bed and Breakfast hotels. They’re cute--don't get me wrong--but they creep me out. Like romantic theme roomed inns. You know what is happening in those beds, underthose USEDsheets EVERYsingle night!

EVERY NIGHT!!There are no breaks! No one goes there to take a relaxing breather; they go there to “play.”

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, DOUBLE ew, ew, ew, ew!!!! (And NO, I don’t bring my own sheets, I just don’t go! If I did bring my own sheets, I’d have to burn them—it’s the bugs in the beds that creep me out too—what if they got contaminated? Even the floors aren’t safe in those places! You have to be bold, and adventurous to walk barefoot across those floors….I’m not THAT kind of a thrill seeker… ) If you took a black light into those rooms….I’m telling you, your heart would stop.

I’m sure the “Tarzan” room is HIGHLY X-rated. Come on….what man out there probably hasn’t tried the rope swing on the tree house (where the bed is) pretending to be Tarzan…….NaKeD. EW!

Do you think that place has ever changed the rope swing? Do you think they have ever “washed” it, giving it a good scrub? Probably not, and my guess is that it may be the original, which means a TON of people have probably “tried out” the amenities’ of the room.

“Oh, please,” I whimper, “that just can’t be a turn-on…..”

“Jump out of the tree again, honey! That was awesome!”“You got it, sweetheart.”*wink, wink*

GAG, GAG, GAG……….

Don’t get me started on the jetted tubs…..

My body is breaking out in cold sweats…..

If you want to kill me painfully, lock me in one of those rooms and I’ll cry like a baby, sobbing myself to death—because I wouldn’t dare touch anything in the room to finish the job quicker. Just kill me off to end my misery!

WHY WOULD I WANT TO SHARE A ROOM AND A BED,

THAT999, 746,823,483,475,643PEOPLE HAVE USED?

Nothing screams romance like “PlaYIN TaRzaN” on the same bed as a billion people you’ve never met. Yeah…..not a place to woo a girl…..

I had a nightmare about this once.

(*Pretend dream sequence here*)

“You, woman. Me, Tarzan.”“Go away.”

“Me hungry!” Mr. freak says, as he pounds his chest like a wannabe Tarzan.I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Bite me. No, wait!AHHHHHHHHH!”And then I run to the bedroom door, clawing at the lock as a man in a loincloth swings from the rope swing, chasing after me. But, the door won’t open and time is running out and I make a mad dash to another corner of the room but end up in the Lake Powell room, the “cave”...where the jetted tub is hidden.

I crumble as my legs give out and I begin to sob.

OH, THE HORROR!!!!

I don’t remember much after that. I think I woke with tears of sheer glee on my face from being able to wake up from a terrorizing nightmare. I was in my OWN room. The inexplicit joy! I nearly kissed all my furniture—but bypassed the underwear drawer.

One of my secret hidden quirks that I have never shared, except with my family, is...

my fear of: Obeseafartaphobia—and yes I made this up.

I blended all the words together and you get: Obese-a-fart-a-phobia

it's the fear of people pinning me under their weight and farting on me. (I threw in the 'obese' part because 'A-fart-a-phobia' sounded unfinished)And this is a phobia of mine because it has happened to me. TWICE. The agonizing torture! To be pinned, limbs flailing and being able to do nothing but breathe in rancid…..okay you get the picture.

To this day, I can’t handle people sitting on me or I freak out—even if my kids dog pile me—I just know it’s a matter of time before someone demonstrates the live version of a whoopee cushion.

I won’t go into the details, but I honestly still have nightmares remembering my body quaking as I am pinned, rockingwith violent tremors as if I have gone into severe cardiac arrest. I could use a defibrillator, but in this case, the only thing that will “shock” me back to the horrific present is pure, clean, unpolluted fresh air! Get your freakin vibrating fanny off of me!

My kids think my reactions are CLASSIC.“HA HA HA!” Everyone laughs as they all pile on top of me like we’re playing “Limo and Driver.” But in this case, the “limo” has a flat tire. (Like I can move with 4 kids planted on top of me!)

“I tooted on mom!” one sings.“Yeah,” I gasp, struggling for air like a victim trapped under a bolder the size of Mt. Flatulence. “So funny, everyone is farting on the mama! I can take it,” I wheeze, crying green tears as stale fumes flow from my nose and I struggle to be brave. “That’s the best you got? Bring it on!”

Neverchallenge a stupid agonizing fate like that.

Another thing that makes my skin crawl was years ago I had a neighbor who asked if they could borrow our toilet bowl scrub brush. AFTER the convulsions stopped and I felt steady, I went to the bathroom to throw up. I’ll have to use the scrub brush to clean up the toilet when I’m done… and just because I’m a nice neighbor, you can KEEP the brush, you don’t even have to return it. This one is on the house…..or is the house on it….?Hey, if you ever need to borrow one of my kid’s used diapers…..I have plenty…….

I also have a squeamish discomfort when eating out at restaurants. I love to go and eat out, but I have to stare at my fork and really eyeball it to make sure there aren’t left over food particles on it.

There is something gross about putting your mouth on a utensil that has been in like, 3oo billion other people’s mouths. (I don’t bring my own silverware, but the thought still creeps me out) If you really, REALLY think about it….not so pleasant...and there could be left over remains of mahi mahi….

I’ll stop there. My hands are shaking so bad, I can barely type…see waht haphns wheen I dwehl on the unpleshant thnigs….

But what if I have to go to the bathroom?

The…..bathroom.

Oh, public restrooms……Okay- I won’t go into depth on this one, but I don’t like sitting on a seat where another 300 billion people have…and a toilet seat is different than a regular seat—at least a regular seat protects your backside with the layers of clothing your wearing. And that white plastic you can put down on your “seat”—doesn’t do a whole lot of good for you either as you wrestle the plastic to stay in place and it starts absorbing what is already left on the seat!

(I need to break for a moment…..I’m dry heaving…..I feel so clammy...)

Does anyone actually sit? I suspect there is a lot of squatters out there……

And if you’re a guy and you don’t get this, well I don’t get how you can get so comfortable emptying your bladder against a wall, next to other men who are doing the same thing! Isn’t that awkward?

Keep my eyes forward, keep my eyes forward!

How has society adopted this? It just doesn’t seem normal to me. Heck, let’s start whistling and break into song like we see in the movies, that’s always a tension breaker!

Do men not need privacy? Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Maybe that’s one of the MAIN differences between our genders. You see a throne, you sit and take it. If the potty room is flashing ‘vacancy’ you help yourself, germs don’t cross your mind—even after you wash your hands, if you wash your hands….but do you do the woman thing and use a paper towel to cover the doorknob to open the door…?

The working of my mind….sigh. I can’t share anyone’s drink either. In fact, just to tease me, my husband will take a sip of my water after I fill it up just to see me grab another cup and start again. I won’t drink it now that he’s used it.

I may kiss the dude, but sharing drinks is strictly ILLEGAL.

I have a fear of floaties.(He doesn’t backwash, but it’s the thought that he or anyone COULD) There are floataholics out there like my kids (yes, I made that up too) and I don’t want to drink the remains of small particles of food left over in their mouth that is now drowning in MY water.“Help me, help me!” I can hear food particles scream as I swallow.

What can I say? We all have our quirks. And if anyone is now questioning my sanity, I want to assure you there is only ONE person in this body.“There is?”“There is.”

6 comments:

Jade and I laughed so hard when we read this post! You forgot to add how when you made dinner that had meat in it you had to use those thick yellow rubber gloves that mom used to do the dishes, just to protect your hands from making direct contact with the uncooked, bloody creamated bloob that will be dinner in a few short hrs.

You make me laugh! I love your quirks, you bring us great entertainment!

Okay so now that you've really made me analyze A LOT of things, like staying in hotels, which I have thought of before, but not in so much depth, ewwww. And I know the public bathrooms are a bit scary, but really, you can't drink from your hubby's glass?? Come now my germaphobic and floataphobic friend. You are great you know, thanks for the laugh.

I remember getting sat on as well. But I was mainly tickled. And I may have peed a little when younger. WHEN YOUNGER! But I now have a fear of raising infants above my head because I did that once, while making the normal "goo-goo" talk that we all do (don't you DARE deny it) and the infant spat up all over me. While I was in the open mouth position. Scarred for LIFE.

Have you ever had to leave your baby with the attending nurse while you go outside the door to gulp huge amounts of air while the docter scrapes yellow brownish goo out of the ear canal in order to establish an ear infection? what happened to the good old fanishened light technique? i'm gagging right now . . . or why do people not use the dishwasher and insist on hand washing them in all those particles of food floating so digustingly throughout the bubbly sink? GROSS! did i ask to share my dinner whith the whole family? and who wants a plate smeared with the invisible remains the two year old spit out at lunch . . . i think i need some air!

Great blog, great comments. Camryn, in Italy, many public stalls only allow for squatting, there are no toilets, and I just got back from a weekend away - - staying in a rented condo, with rented sheets, rented plates and forks, and a rented bathroom!!!! [I actually survived] How did I raise a house full of germaphobes??